Just Your Imagination
by anonyreaderfan
Summary: Marla sees something in John. Something that upsets her. Non Canon and definitely way out there.


Disclaimer: The Tomorrow People is the property of the CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

~ X ~

Marla sat curled on her living room sofa, a glass of wine in one hand. For the first time in she didn't know how long she was completely relaxed, and she owed it to the young man playing a video game with her second son.

John certainly earned his keep. As much as she had objected to housing him when Stephen first requested it, that's how much she now appreciated him. Besides, it wasn't him she had objected to. It was the danger to her family that he represented. She had instinctively liked the young man from the first time she met him at Stephen's impromptu pizza party.

He had taken over the house work; vacuuming, laundry, ironing, fixing things around the house. There was nothing he avoided or was afraid to tackle. Plus, he put her cooking to shame. She was torn between amusement and chagrin when Luca begged her to let John cook Sunday dinner. He had said it nicely. "Naw mom––you deserve a break. Besides, John promised roast beef and his is awesome."

And it was nice to have someone who appreciated what she did for her family. The fears she had for them. Grasped what she had suppressed all these years to keep up the semblance of a normal human life. Stephen might forgive her for drugging him, but John understood her reasons. And that understanding was a balm to her sorely tried soul.

She watched him now playing with Luca. She could tell Luca adored him. Stephen didn't have time for his younger brother, but John clearly did. She overheard a few bits of advice he gave Luca. Advice Luca took from him, but might have rejected from his mother. She didn't resent John's influence, rather she welcomed it, clearly understanding that a mother's advice at certain times in a kid's life meant less than someone closer to his age.

Now under the influence of a wine induced haze, she allowed her mind the freedom to wander, a luxury she seldom gave into. Control was paramount to their safety. She was aware of, but not listening to the jokes and banter as they competed in the video game. From the first there was something about John that appealed to her. What was so familiar, so comfortable about this young man?

She studied him as he interacted with Luca, liking the shy smiles, the way his eyes crinkled when he was amused, the tilt of his lips. She liked the cleft in his chin. It reminded her of her father's chin. Now where did that come from? That was part of it! She was pleased that she remembered that. Her father had died so long ago, but she still had a childhood memory of him and her fascination with his chin.

Those eyes reminded her of someone, but she couldn't quite place them. Those eyes––those eyes. Suddenly she went cold, and the wine glass slipped from her fingers hitting the table and shattering.

The two stopped their video game startled. "Mom, are you okay?"

"Don't move! I'll get something to clean up the glass. You don't want to get cut." John jumped up and ran to the kitchen.

He came back with a small trash can, and a brush and dustpan, plus a towel. He and Luca picked up the glass while Marla stared at him in shock.

John noticed her preoccupation. "Are you okay?"

"How many glasses did you have Mom?" Luca eyed at her dubiously.

Marla gathered her wits together and laughed it off. "I'm fine. I'm just not used to relaxing." She used the towel to dry herself and the table. She was sure John didn't believe her because he darted another anxious look at her, but she had her mind firmly under control. That was the skill she never gave up on during the years she hid her powers. Her inner thoughts were impenetrable.

She watched the boys go back to the video game, and she turned on the TV, but her glance kept sliding back to John.

"How old are you, John?"

John, his attention on the video game, answered her without looking up. "Twenty three."

"Are your parents still alive?"

"Whoa! Good one," he congratulated Luca and then answered her. "Don't know. I was dumped at a shelter when I was born. Been in foster homes until––ah, until I was old enough to be on my own." John shot a comical look at Marla, aware that he had almost slipped in front of Luca.

She smiled back at him.

She got up. "I'm heading to bed. Luca, don't stay up too late."

As she walked by John, she ran her fingers through his hair feeling the soft texture. He looked up surprised, but quickly turned back to the game as Luca howled in triumph.

"Not fair. I was distracted," John protested.

"Too bad. That's what you get for not paying attention."

So obvious now. How did she not see it the first time she met him? She knew the answer. She had never considered the possibility. She didn't go right to bed. First she went to her closet and dug way in the back, finally finding and pulling out a box that she had always managed to bring with her no matter how quickly they had to leave.

Later when she heard Stephen come in, she hurried downstairs. Under the guise of catching up with him, she managed to turn the conversation to John, learning a few interesting facts.

~ X ~

Jedikiah wasn't too surprised when the incoming call was identified as the Jameson household, but he was taken completely off guard when the voice on the other end belonged to Marla.

"We need to talk, Jedikiah. Come to my house on your lunch break." Marla's voice brooked no argument.

"I thought you worked during the week," Jedikiah said cautiously.

"I called in sick today. I'll be expecting you around noon." The line went dead.

Jedikiah sat looking at the phone. _Now what's this about?_

He shrugged. He'd find out in two hours.

The door opened almost before he finished knocking. She didn't speak just stepped back giving him room to enter.

"Hello, Marla. I have to admit I was surprised by your call." Jedikiah's attempt at the customary courtesies was ignored.

"Sit." She pointed to a chair opposite the sofa she sat on, back straight.

He sat, relaxed, giving her time to say what was on her mind.

She looked him over, tilting her head, looking at him from various angles. "I see it now."

The man's eyebrows rose. "You see what?"

Marla didn't answer his question. "I had an older sister. She broke out early. I completely lost track of her twenty four years ago. Twenty two years ago my mother and I were notified she died of an overdose."

Jedikiah's expression didn't change, but a careful observer might have seen a twitch in one pinkie. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I don't see how this concerns me."

"I'm not done with my story. She was a powerful TP. Very dedicated––sincere––passionate about our kind. She was going to change the world, make it a place where humans and TP lived in harmony. She wasn't going to hide. Not her. She was going to find and work with the top TP people. She was so invested in her cause. She kept somewhat in touch, but her life was in her cause not with family. She was very careful what she wrote, mentioning a few names, but not giving much information. When she disappeared, I started searching trying to find a trace of her. One of the names was Price, and that's how I met Roger."

She reached to a small table next to the sofa. "I went through the family albums last night after everyone went to bed. I found a picture of her."

She handed the photo to Jedikiah. "Does she look familiar?"

Jedikiah held her gaze as she handed him the picture. He dropped his eyes to the picture of a tall slim girl with light brown hair with blonde highlights. He made a show of looking at it intently and then shook his head, handing it back. "No, can't say that I recognize her."

Marla used her telepathic powers to their fullest extent, but she couldn't read Jedikiah. Marla's eyes were agate hard. "Doesn't she remind you of anyone?"

Jedikiah pursed his lips. "Can't say that she does. She doesn't look much like you."

"That's true," Marla acknowledged. "I take after my mother, but she was the spitting image of my father."

"The last letter she wrote she begged me to destroy. Told me she was in trouble. She had made a mistake––trusted the wrong person. It was very cryptic––rambling––said she wasn't going to make another person suffer for the errors in judgment she had made. She would always protect even if she paid with her life. It was totally incomprehensible. She was obviously trying to not give me too much information, while at the same time she was tortured by something she had done."

She sighed deeply. "I didn't know what to think and then when we were told she died of a drug overdose I assumed she was paranoid. We had grown apart, and I didn't know anything of her current life. I mourned her, but let it go. I was involved with Roger, and then I had the kids and my life was full."

She stopped speaking letting the silence grow. Jedikiah finally broke it. "I don't understand where you're going with this."

"You son of a bitch. You piece of sniveling snot that God wiped from his nose. How could you?" Her voice was filled with scorn.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jedikiah's voice was cold as ice.

"How could you not see it? John is the spitting image of her and the Price she mentioned. Not Roger. It was you! He has her hair, her eyes, the chin, and what isn't her is you. I ran my fingers through his hair. I used to brush my sister's hair. It has the exact same texture."

She leaned forward her eyes blazing. "You knew she was pregnant. Her rambling––it all makes sense now. You wanted the child. You finally tracked him down and kept him in the only place that you could without attracting notice. At Ultra. Your youngest recruit. Favored, but careful not to favor him too much."

She stopped abruptly. "Did you have her killed? Did you?"

Jedikiah looked away, not meeting her eyes. "I repeat I did not know your sister, but I did move in those circles. Those were dangerous times. If Roger told you anything about the Founder, then you would know he was not a man to cross. You followed his vision, or you died."

He turned to look at her again. "Either for him or against him. No buts."

Marla knew she would get no more out of him. "How could you put him through that program? How could you risk your own son?" She shook her head in disgusted disbelief.

He stared coldly at her. "I told you John is not my son."

Suddenly a thought hit her, and she raised her eyes fearfully to Jedikiah, needing to know, but dreading the answer. "Did Roger know about John? Did he know and not tell me?"

One moment Jedikiah was sitting regarding her with the impatient look of a man humoring a woman making obviously insane accusations, and the next he had her by the throat. So adept was he at masking his emotions, both mentally and facially, that she was caught completely off guard, defenseless.

He squeezed until black spots danced before her eyes. His mouth close to her ear, he spoke in a low intense voice. "Do you have any idea how dangerous your false accusations are? Do you have any idea what the ramifications would be if this nonsense reached the Founder's ears? How many people you would put in danger? Do you have any idea how paranoid it might make someone if they knew that the person with the best chance of challenging him had a TP son that could kill?"

As she ran out of air and her panicked struggles gradually ceased, he slowly relaxed his grip allowing her to wheeze harshly for breath. She stared into ice cold blue eyes and saw death.

"Your son lives because he carries his father's genes and probably has his father's abilities. But let's play a little what if game. What if there was another child––another carrier of the same genes––the son of Roger's brother and Stephen's aunt. A child with TP powers. Is your son still as valuable?"

He let her absorb what he said and then added a final caution. "Let's agree that your imagination ran away with you. Let's make a pact to forget we talked about this. And we certainly wouldn't want your delusions to upset Stephen or John."

He released her completely, straightening up, pulling his suit jacket down and smoothing it.

He tilted his head, and she nodded once, more of a jerk indicating she agreed.

"Sorry, I have to leave now. I don't want to be late for my next appointment."

She put a hand to her throat. It hurt to swallow, and she wasn't sure she would be able to talk.

"I'll let myself out and––oh, if I were you I'd wear a turtle neck or a scarf for a couple of days. The bruises will be tough to explain."

She stayed motionless with her hand on her throat until she heard his car engine start and the sound of it pulling away from the curve. Then she covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

~ FIN ~


End file.
